Chapter 20

TWENTY

XERO

I’m back at the infirmary, with Isabel glaring at me over the writhing reverend. She’s fitting him with a series of subcutaneous devices we can activate via remote control, so he can perform as our Trojan horse.

Tyler messaged me while I was reading through the first entries of Melonie’s diary, which charts the woman’s gradual descent from indifference to her children to hatred. I barely reached the part that hinted at the origin of Amethyst’s trauma when I received some good news.

The money from Reverend Thomas’s church account has cleared, and Father has sent over details of a pre-shoot reception at the Hotel Royale in Helsing Island, New York. It’s one of the destinations we identified from the private jets that departed the airport around the time we found footage of Dolly and Amethyst.

As one of the investors, the reverend will get a meet and greet with Delta and Dolly at the hotel’s function room, before joining them the next morning for two exciting days of filming.

Father’s words, not mine.

Two days of rape and torture for entertainment and profit. I plan on reaching Amethyst before Father and his film crew even get the chance to say, Action .

The reception is tomorrow afternoon at four, followed by a viewing of exclusive footage. There’s no mention of the shoot’s exact location, as transportation there will be provided the following morning at eight.

Jynxson has boarded a high-speed catamaran to the island with a small team of operatives and a large cache of weapons. Tyler and his team are scouring all 150 square miles of the land mass for production studios, abandoned warehouses, and other venues large and isolated enough to stage an illicit shoot.

Reverend Thomas rears up, his movements barely contained by the restraints pinning him to the cot. “For the love of God, please stop this!”

“That’s it,” Isabel snaps. “I can’t operate under these conditions. He’s going under sedation.”

She turns toward one of the cupboards at the edge of the room, but I place a hand on her shoulder.

“He never showed an ounce of mercy for any of the victims in the snuff movies, so he gets to feel every slice of your scalpel,” I say.

My sister’s features harden. “In that case, you won’t object to a muscle relaxant so I can work in peace?”

I smirk. “Go ahead.”

She pulls away to a trolley and draws a clear liquid into a syringe. I turn back to the trembling reverend, staring into his stricken features. His face is pale, covered in a film of sweat. He’s no longer the charming asshole who tried to impress my little ghost by turning budget groceries into holy water.

“How does it feel to be the one at another’s mercy?” I sneer, my lip curling at his naked cowardice.

“Not too different from the last time,” he replies through panting breaths. “Why are you doing this? I’ve cooperated. Done everything you asked. Isn’t it time to show me some forgiveness?”

Laughter bubbles up in my chest, and I let it spill out, grinning with a savage delight.

His eyes widen. “What did I say?”

“Absolution isn’t given. It’s earned. You’re the one who will lead us to Delta and all his supporters.”

Alarm flashes across his features as it finally sinks in that I plan on making him betray his fellow snuff-loving subscribers. He stares up at me, his jaw falling slack. “You don’t understand. Delta doesn’t take treachery lightly.”

I clap him on the cheek. “Cheer up. You’ll get to see Dolly before you die.”

Isabel approaches with the syringe, making him thrash. His unbandaged eye, bulging with terror, remains on mine, silently begging for my nonexistent mercy. He mouths ‘please’ as she slides the needle into his vein and presses the plunger.

As the drug takes effect, his whimpers and gasps slow into pained groans, but I continue staring into his eyes.

“Better.” Isabel picks up her scalpel and makes an incision near his collarbone. “Make yourself useful and get me the leads.”

Smirking, I pick up the wires for the reverend’s pacemaker and hand them to my sister.

She takes her time, threading them through a vein into his heart. As she makes minor adjustments, I pick up the lightweight pacemaker.

“Anything you can do to accelerate the healing of his injuries? I can’t send him to the meeting point looking like this.”

“I’m a medic, not a miracle worker,” she mutters and slides the device into a pocket of skin in his chest. “Testing.”

I tap a few buttons on the pacemaker, watching the monitor for changes in his heart’s rhythm. When it stabilizes, I grin with triumph.

“It’s in everyone’s interest if he doesn’t shuffle in looking fresh from the torture table,” I add, prompting her for a solution.

She closes his incision with sutures, her brow furrowing. “The best I can do at such short notice is cauterize the wounds and combine that with a course of anti-inflammatories and antibiotics. You’ll have to make up the difference with cosmetics.”

I grunt. “That will do for now.”

Reverend Thomas won’t live a second once he’s served his purpose.

After Isabel inserts enough tech into his body to track him to an accuracy of a millimeter, we test the app that controls our pain distributing devices and the beating of his heart.

Once the muscle relaxant wears off, he trembles openly at the violation, glaring up at me like I’m the monster.

I cup the bandaged side of his face. “Good boy. You took that pacemaker so well. If you screw us over in any way in Helsing Island, we’ll keep you suspended in agony long before you beg us to stop your heart.”

Isabel sets down her instruments and whirls around, her eyes hardening. “Now that we’ve prepped the Trojan horse, it’s time to finish your course of treatment.”